


The Doe

by burntmythroatskullingmytea (Tytoaster)



Series: The Mac Curitin Cycle [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Gen, an unhappy ending, saga of the slave queen AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:18:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tytoaster/pseuds/burntmythroatskullingmytea
Summary: This about an unnamed woman, the wife of Ivar the Boneless (even though he isn’t named) telling her children a bedtime story. She uses an analogy of a hunter who rides on a dragon burning forest down and a noble herd of deer to discretely tell the reader how she was captured and her family were killed by the boys’ father. She laments that she will remain nameless in history and that her sons will be remembered for their raids and battles and become just like their father.The saga of the Slave Queen, is my much happier longer version of this story.





	The Doe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a more detailed version of an originally 700-word short story I wrote for my Exiting School English exam on the theme of memory that prompted ‘The Saga of the Slave Queen’. 
> 
> Fair warning though it is quite tragic, sad and dark.

“Mother, tell us story,” A small voice calls to me from the darkness. I sigh and turn from the doorway. I wander over to Bárid’s bed and perch myself on the edge of it. Lighting the two candles mounted to the wall I look into his icy blue eyes, then turn to see my twins Sigfrith and Sigtrygg on the other side of the room, both sitting up in anticipation. All of them, tiny little copies of their father.

“What story should I tell you, my little warriors?” I ask.

“How about one about father’s raids?” Sigfrith bounces up and down. I stiffen involuntarily.

“But we always hear those,” Sigtrygg groans. I chuckle. Of the three, Sigtrygg was the most like me. He showed a lack of interest in the violent tales his father brought back with him. Like me, he preferred stories of my country, ones of its kings and queens and fae.

“What story shall I tell you then? Bárid, you asked for a story, what do you want to hear?” I ask my eldest boy. In the candlelight I see his face scrunch up in concentration as his brothers look on impatiently.  

“What about a story about you… and father? That would be fair to all of us,” Bárid proposes thoughtfully.

“That’s a good idea Bárid!” Sigtrygg praises, “Wise, father would be proud.”

“It’s not that good,” Sigfrith scoffs, “Anyone could have come up with that solution, I thought it as well, I just didn’t say it.”

I swallow, too shaken to stop the jealous bickering that ensues. I knew this would happen one day, just not so soon. “What story about me and your father?” I subtly continue to probe, hoping they wouldn’t ask for the story I would rather forget.

“How about how you met ~~!~~  Father says it was the best day of his life!” Sigtrygg jumps excitedly. I freeze, trying not to let my fear show.

“Was it the best day of your life too mother?” Bárid pries. For a second, I could have sworn he knew. My throat goes dry. Three pairs of blue orbs stare at me expectantly. “You were happy, weren’t you?” Bárid blinks in confusion. My hands shake under the pressure. I don’t want to disappoint them, they are too young to understand. I hold to that thought and open my mouth to speak.

“It was not the happiest day of my life, because two other days made me far happier,” I smile, “The days that my little warriors came into my world were the happiest,” I say truthfully.  

“I still want to hear the story,” Sigfrith persists.  I take a deep breath and nod.

“I will tell you, but it will be our secret,” I pause and watch as they all sit up paying the utmost attention. “To understand my secret you will need time and wisdom, it will be like a game, a puzzle for my brave little warriors to solve,” I begin, hoping they would never understand.

“Once upon a time in the forest of Eire live a herd of noble deer, in this herd there was a doe. She loved to run through the forest, away from her family-”

“Oh no she’s going to die isn’t she?” Sigtrygg laments.

I smile sadly. ‘On the contrary my dear one, her days in the forest saved her life,’ I longed to tell him, but I continue; “Here The Doe would meet with a beautiful Stag, they were good friends and he told her tales of his travels to other forests, she loved him very much-”

“Father!” Sigfrith guesses excitedly. The word is a stab to my heart but I bite my lip and decide to keep going.

“All the deer of Eire were happy, until one day, The Doe was grazing near a river and saw five Dragons flying towards her forest, each dragon had many hunters on their backs. The Doe had heard of these hunters, she knew that they would burn her forest down and kill all the deer,” I say and stare at their horrified faces. A bitter part of me scoffs at the irony. “The doe knew she had to warn her family and they had to run away from the hunters. And she ran, and ran, and ran as fast as she could but… the dragons were faster-” The three boys gasp.

“Oh no! That’s so sad,” Sigtrygg cries.

“Yes, it is sad, my love,” I acknowledge, but unfortunately the story isn’t over. “By the time The Doe reached her family their forest was on fire and most of her herd had been killed, the others had either run away or been tied up to be taken as pets for the hunters, The Doe now knew she had to run away otherwise the hunters would catch her too.”

“Where is father, The Stag?” Bárid inquires with a worried expression.

“Shh! She is coming to that!” Sigfrith shushes. I take another deep breath and hold my trembling hands in my lap, preparing myself to finish the fairytale.

“The Doe galloped away but…someone saw her; the leader of the hunters. The most fearsome and cunning of the lot. He was very clever and he slowly and carefully followed The Doe’s tracks so she wouldn’t notice she was being chased. When The Doe got tired of running, she laid down under a tree and fell asleep-”

“NO! Wake up deer!” Sigtrygg warns. I wish that my beloved Sigtrygg was there to yell his warning for me that day, but alas, he wasn’t born yet.

“The Leader was very happy when he found The Doe asleep and too tired to fight back. He got out his rope and started to tie her up, she woke up and struggled against him…” I choke out trying not to remember that this story was more than fantasy, “…She screamed for help, and someone heard her.”

“The Stag!” They all chant in unison.

“Yes,” I confirm, “The Stag heard her and came to rescue her. He was very angry at the Leader of the hunters and he charged with his big horns-”

“And impaled the evil hunter on his horns and paraded his dead body for all the rest of the hunters to see!” Sigfrith disturbingly finishes for me.

“And then He and The Doe found a new forest to live in and the hunters never came back again!” Bárid adds.

“And The Stag and The Doe had three fawns and lived happily ever after!” Sigtrygg sums up their imaginary ending nicely.

I knew if I told them the real ending they would be confused and disappointed. So I nod, and kiss them all good night. I then blow out the candles and leave the light of the moon to guard my children as wander down the halls of my gilded cage and lose myself in thought.

To them, their father would always be a Noble Stag, their hero. They would never consider him to be the hunter who shot The Stag and took The Doe away. They would never think that he continues to burn down forests and leave The Doe behind to care for the children he put in her. They would never believe that he would one day train The Doe’s precious fawns to become fearsome hunters like him. They would never hear the terror in the horn that I hear now signalling his safe return, they would only hear joy. To them, he was always the hero of every story.

That was the way things worked. With time and many ears to hear and mouths to speak; his massacres became glorious battles, his thievery became exciting treasure hunts and his violence became a love story. That was the way history always remembered the victors and discarded the victims. History would always breed new victor’s to follow the footstep of the old and their Saga’s would be told and that cycle would continue until the end of time itself.

I know my name will die with me, and the meaning of my bedtime story will be lost. My tragedy will echo through time, disguised as a pleasant tale to tell children, that is the fate of all forgotten women. The sagas of my husband and my sons will ring louder, but The Doe will live for generations.  


End file.
